


No Price Too High

by BlackVelvet42



Series: For Her [2]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Consensual Kink, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, Multiple Orgasms, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 20:01:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11836011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackVelvet42/pseuds/BlackVelvet42
Summary: "It's light years away from perfection, but there's no one else he'd rather be with and he can't bear the thought of her with someone else."





	No Price Too High

**Author's Note:**

> Prequel to "For Her".

He thrusts her hard, but she demands more.

He calls her names she doesn't deserve and he doesn't want to use, and he feels the first ripples inside her.

He twists her arms to the point where they will break and her orgasm shoots through her, powerful and intense.

And he hates it. Her for asking, himself for giving in, time and again. Them together, for everything it is and everything it's not.

But then they get to the part why he keeps coming back. Not the fact that she lets him into her body, not that her requests are like flipping through a catalog of his darkest fantasies, not that when he comes it's like a shattering end of the universe every damn time.

But this.

How, afterward, she lets him wrap his arms around her, soft and vulnerable, and he gets to caress her with all the tenderness he has bottled up inside of him. His heart swelling with the forbidden emotion, aching for more closeness than she's willing to give, pretending if only for a few fleeting minutes that she is his to have and to hold.

Sometimes, when she's exhausted enough, he dares to whisper the words. Never the three that would drive her away, but something less, something within her tolerance if she did happen to hear it.

It's a petty comfort, but he takes it.

Because these are the moments why he's willing to go on with this insanity that began so long ago as something remarkably sensual and gratifying in boundaries crossed and needs fulfilled, but somewhere along the way turned into a torment of uneven desires and a binding obligation.

It's light years away from perfection, but there's no one else he'd rather be with and he can't bear the thought of her with someone else. So he continues doing the things she asks for and hopes against a dying hope that one day something will break this cycle and turn it into what he truly longs for.

Or ends it permanently.

 

***

 

The undercurrent of dominance and submission was in their relationship from the beginning. And the hint of wanting to be hurt.

At first, he thought it was a misunderstanding, due to his past as Maquis and his liking for boxing. Women had made that erroneous presumption before, that he would prefer the same roughness in bed.

Then he concluded it might be because of her leadership, an acceptable means of relinquishing that control to another, safe and private, if only for a few hours every now and then.

And also maybe partly because more gentle touches would be too close to a relationship and feelings they had agreed to avoid. Secretly, he hoped that would change, the sooner the better.

How swiftly that erotic power play turned into dark and desperate acts bordering violence took him by surprise.

The first time he pinned her against the wall and ripped her clothes off, she cried out near her peak for him to hurt her, voicing a hunger he was already very well aware of, and pulling them into a thunderous whirl of lust.

He had no plan and hearing her urgent please the only thing he came up with was grabbing her hair and biting her neck so hard that it left a bloody trail of his teeth marks marring her delicate skin.

But she was wild and beautiful in the throes of her uncontrolled ecstasy, shouting out his name as their bodies thrashed together erupting in a joint climax. And there was no doubt in his mind that whatever she craved for in this world, he would give her.

That's when he learned about the dermal regenerator she kept with her during their meetings. It had never been needed before, but now she fetched it like it was the most natural thing in the world, to require medical attention after sex.

Healing her skin, apologizing for his excessive use of force, he felt it was crucial to discuss what just took place. To learn more about her desires, how they could explore those needs and fit them into his. To know they were in this together.

Skillfully, she evaded his attempt to connect with her on a more meaningful level, giving him a polite smile, saying she'd be fine, and leaving him with that. It wasn't until much later that he realized it was that moment he should've forced her to talk with him.

The following week she asked him to tie her up and the mere idea of it ignited a pulsing heat in his groin.

Laying naked in her bed, bound by her wrists and ankles, with her hair splayed across the pillows, she looked like a fantasy brought to life. He kissed her all over, worshipping her with his mouth and his hands, but she hissed and told him to turn her over, on her stomach and fuck her deep.

It took him far too long to understand what she was avoiding and what she was aiming at.

They never spoke. Of anything. Not what he might want. Not what parts of the day disturbed her so much that it took time for her to come. Not what their strange arrangement meant and where it was headed.

One day, she decided to shift their meetings to the holodeck and he discovered just how far her imagination stretched. And how, when it came to pain, it had no limits.

Spanking her was almost endearing. He understood the emotions related to it and in the end, she actually shed a few tears, hiding them from him of course and wishing for an oral to finish her off.

After, she tried so hard to act aloof and indifferent, but he could see she was shaken to the core. Something about it had touched her profoundly and his heart was singing with joy.

He took the initiative the next week, pulled her over his lap, ass up, head down, and after teasing her clit close to orgasm, he spread her slickness and pushed his finger between her cheeks.

She tensed and flushed bright red, but kept her mouth shut and held still, clutching his legs as he plunged another finger inside her slit, driving her easily over the edge four times before hearing through her heavy panting a faint, sated whisper, 'Enough'.

It was one of the last nights he actually enjoyed what they were doing.

The request for being choked was beyond his comprehension.

She'd done it before, she argued. It felt good, she confessed almost shyly.

How could he refuse?

The ropes pressing into her skin as they coiled around her from head to toe looked dangerous but oh, so arousing, and he bent her over the bed, thrusting into her from behind, more gently than was probably fit for the scene.

Her breathing was thin and laborious, and he tried to loosen the tight binding around her throat. But she rasped for him to leave it and just go on and it was so fast she went rigid with her climax and then limp under his final thrusts.

The seconds it took him to realize she wasn't breathing were too many.

How he managed to bark the orders to the computer, he couldn't recall later. Emergency transport to sickbay, end holodeck program, seal the doors, prepare to resuscitate.

Seeing her lifeless body, bound and exposed, shimmer into existence, made the Doctor throw a brief glance at him. But there wasn't the slightest change on his expressionless face and he remained silent.

The Doctor had her freed and restored to life in mere seconds, sedating her into a peaceful sleep, covering her nakedness with a sheet.

He, however, was in shock. Cradling himself in the corner, crying openly, and staring at the steady rise and fall of her chest.

What he'd almost done, he could never forgive himself.

When the Doctor finished stabilizing her, he went to his office and returned shortly with a PADD he extended, along with a fresh set of clothes. There was no lecture, no reprimand, no rising of his voice, only a firm order to go and get some rest. And a softer note that she'd be alright.

At the solitude of his quarters, the tears and remorse and self-hatred seemed to have no end.

Reliving the events over and over again in his mind. Opening his eyes to his own absolute stupidity, her incredible recklessness, how close he had come to losing her, not to mention endangering the survival of a ship full of people, only because of a passion spiraling out of control. A passion that had warped past anything resembling safe or sane a long time ago.

But when he finally sobered enough to take interest in the PADD the Doctor had given him, he found a dawning of peace.

The rest of the night he spent reading about sex in its various forms and especially, by doctors' orders, how to make it safe.

After the incident, she stayed away from him. Which was either a wise move or a fortunate coincidence, because if she had brought it up, he would have ended their arrangement without hesitation.

During that break, he had a chance to think and come to a conclusion. Of what he really wished and what he would settle for.

And he studied.

Eventually, late one evening, she came by his quarters and inquired in passing if he would care for some time together in the holodeck. She looked like she was the one apologizing for letting him down, finding a means to patch some wrong.

There was a flutter of hope in his chest that it would all be different now.

But entering the holodeck to find the new program she had created, the impenetrable darkness and the concrete floor leading to a crude setting designed for pain and pleasure, but no affection or togetherness, he steeled himself and stepped into the role he was needed to play. For her.

She was inventive, if nothing else, bringing forth an endless line of new approaches to the same subject. Hurting her, humiliating her, making her suffer like no one should.

Yet he was always one step ahead of her plans. He was a quick study and although he didn't understand half of what he read – the why, particularly – he accepted that pleasure came in many forms and for some reason, this was what satisfied her at this point in her life.

And for some reason, he was the one she decided to share it with. Though sharing was probably too nice a word for what they were doing, she'd chosen him nonetheless, him and no one else, and on some level, he was grateful for that.

So he pinched and twisted, pulled and pushed, making her moan and wail, cry and shout out her pain and her ecstasy, always keeping everything in control.

Even on those rare occasions when he was caught in the heat of the play, mesmerized by her intense arousal and the erotic scenes she created, some even beautiful in a sense, though always leading to her torture before the satisfaction, he never let himself forget the horrible paleness of her dead body.

He kept it within reason and both of them away from sickbay. Carrying out the part he'd been given, on the bridge and at the holodeck. Stealing for himself the short moments when the sweat was drying and the pulses were slowing down and she was too occupied in her own bliss to care about his bold hands caressing her softly, lovingly, whispering with measured words the tender emotions that, against all odds, would not wither and die no matter how long they were abused and neglected.

 

***

 

She halted the lift but didn't meet his curious gaze.

“Tomorrow, I want you to invite Tom to join us.”

He froze.

He'd expected this moment to come, a time when he would not be enough for her, and thought he'd braced himself.

It hurt like a knife between the ribs.

"Okay," was all he said.

"And before he arrives, I want you to do something," she continued, her eyes fixed into nothingness.

“Just say what you need.”

“I want you to hit me.”

The tone of her voice was so even, her posture so calm.

It spoke volumes about their relationship that his response was not to object or to question but to ask her to specify.

“With what?”

“With your bare hands. With everything you've got. I don't care.”

He'd often wondered if there was a breaking point for him, some barrier he would not be able to cross, a line to be drawn in this swamp of desperation where he was barely keeping them from sinking. If any, this could be it.

It wasn't.

She took his silence for what it was, an approval to the plans she had laid out, and resumed the lift.

There was nothing more to say so they stared at the gray wall.

He was a boxer. He knew very well exactly what and how much the human body could take before it broke.

**Author's Note:**

> And yes, there is a sequel, "Like Sand Through The Fingers".


End file.
